


Nobody Gets Me (Like You)

by jungkooksfic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji Is So Done, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Worship, Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou are Bros, Chaos, Cute, Cute Akaashi Keiji, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Neck Kissing, Oblivious Bokuto Koutarou, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungkooksfic/pseuds/jungkooksfic
Summary: Akaashi is extremely desperate to get an apartment before college starts up, so he finds himself in an apartment with two homosexual men, and a surprisingly level-headed lesbian.Or, Bokuto suddenly dedicates his life to getting his hot roommate to notice him.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 32
Kudos: 129





	1. An Apartment Full of Homos

**Author's Note:**

> Hi-hi! I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> This fic is basically a spinoff of the show New Girl (it's hilarious, please watch it.) I changed a few things as needed but it pretty much stays true to a lot of the plot. 
> 
> The title is based off the song by Wallows.

Five minutes.

Five minutes had passed and Akaashi had already considered throwing himself out the window. _Twice._ That had to be a new record. It just barely surpassed that time in middle school when he had to sit through sex ed. That class was taught by his _mother._

And _why_ did Akaashi have the sudden need to throw himself from the window that sat perched at the top of a five-story building? Well. He saw a “roommate wanted” ad on Craig’s List and his 2-in-the-morning-self thought it would be a _great_ idea to show up. Only halfway through the bus ride the following morning did he think about the looming possibility that these people could brutally murder him and hide his body in their sketchy apartment he had, in fact, never stepped foot in.

But the apartment was actually quite nice. Well, _kind of._ Sort of… Okay, it was a _sort of_ nice apartment. The ceiling was painted a color of turquoise that made Akaashi scrunch his nose a little, and it smelled distinctly of mustard and fresh flowers, and the guy who answered the door looked like he had five Monster energy drinks in a row, but other than that, it was _fine._ Kind of.

It’s quite obvious that Akaashi is _extremely_ desperate to find somewhere to live before his college classes begin in two weeks as evidence by the fact that he didn’t turn right around and spare his own dignity. But no, he stepped inside, let himself be herded to the couch by energy drink guy, and sit there awkwardly. Now, what was _supposed_ to happen was they would ask him questions, like what time he went to sleep and woke up, how tidy he was, what his thoughts were on having people over. Akaashi considered himself to be the dream roommate— or at least, his own dream roommate. He cleaned up any messes he made, went to sleep late but woke up late as well, and was respectful to his roommates’ groceries and belongings. He didn’t mind overnight guests. Well, at least, he wouldn’t _say_ anything about it.

But, instead of having a list of logical questions, he got, well, this:

“Are your eyes naturally that color?”

“Do you like playing Super Smash Bros?”

“What’s your foot size? Like, you _know_ what I mean, bro-”

“What are your opinions on aliens?”

“You don’t drink tea, do you? You kinda strike me as the type of guy who drinks tea and I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Were these really the questions described in the Craig’s List description of an interview? Akaashi’s eye twitches and he just sits silently to wait for an actual question.

“Just a heads up, don’t put your bed against the wall we share. Well, if you plan on sleeping, that is-”

“Shut up, Kuroo. The only person you’ve slept with in the past five months is your boss’s younger sister. And that was a sad, pitiful hookup as she left directly after. Didn’t even stay the night.”

Akaashi’s eye twitched even more. Looking between two of the roommates and their constant bickerings of conversation was like trying to watch a back-and-forth tennis match. The guy who looked like he tripled up on energy drinks and the guy with hair that looked like it had never seen a brush were both so _loud._ Akaashi didn’t like loud. He liked quiet, respectable roommates who would go about their lives while he would go about his. And when he shifted his position on the leather couch he’d been lead to for his interview (ifwhatever this was could even be defined as that), he swore he heard something _crunch._ Akaashi sighed outwardly. Noticing how the two guys were arguing without end about Kuroo (bedhead guy) and his nonexistent sex life, he took not that they wouldn’t realize if he just saw himself out. So, Akaashi was already on his way of standing up and shamelessly walking out the door in which he came before he felt someone grip his wrist.

“Wait,” came a soft voice, and Akaashi raised his brows, looking at whoever had blocked at his escape from over his glasses. It seemed she had just returned as he hadn’t noticed her before. Or, perhaps she had been overshadowed by her roommates and their big personalities. She turned out to be quite the beautiful girl who looked like the female adaption of himself: light, clear blue eyes, dark midnight hair, and a pair of thin glasses perched on the bridge of her thin, elegant nose. “I could show you around the apartment before you make your decision.”

At the sound of this mysterious girl’s voice, the two other guys silenced immediately. It seemed they had a built-in respect for her. He eases a little. So _this_ is the reason why the apartment hadn’t burned down within the first week of it being owned. If it were in the hands of these two alone, he was sure it would look much, _much_ different, so Akaashi shrugs. Why not? This girl seemed reasonable. He didn’t realize that everyone in the room was awaiting his answer until he looked up to see everyone staring at him. Energy drink guy leapt to his feet so dramatically that the cup of coffee bedhead guy was holding dangerously teetered in his hands. He smacks energy drink guy on the back. “Don’t leave yet, Mr. Tired Guy!”

Akaashi suddenly feels even more tired. “Do I really look..?” The girl waves at him dismissively in a way that said _don’t mind him_ so Akaashi quieted and looked up through lidded eyes in a silent urge for energy drink guy to continue.

“We haven’t even made you dinner!” the guy continues, “and you haven’t looked around!”

Akaashi sighs a little, “I was just about to look-” But, yet again, he was cut off by bedhead guy.

“Since when are we making dinner?” he says, brows furrowed as he set his coffee aside and looked at his wild friend with a somewhat stern expression, “Bokubro, you can’t even make ramen without a huge mess.”

“Don’t be mean!” Bokubro (was that actually his name?) whines, shoving bedhead guy. “Kuroobro, you can’t cook either! So don’t be so- so- analytic… anal-y-tic?” Bokubro frowned, trying to pronounce the word.

“Analytical,” Akaashi finishes for him, drawing out the syllables patiently. Bokubro lights up.

“Analytical!” he repeats, but the middle was mumbled to incoherence. Akaashi didn’t have the heart to give him anything less than a nod. Why was this guy’s loud childishness actually _charming?_

“Ha, anal. That’s gay, Bo,” Kuroobro (oh, Akaashi got it now: they attached “bro” at the end of each other’s names… how very… sweet?) said with a snort. The girl who possesses maturity unlike the guys she lives with rolls her eyes and Bokubro frowns again,

“But I _am-“_

“Speaking in which!” Kuroo claps his hands together and Akaashi actually flinches at the sudden noise. “So, Mr. Tired Guy, do you mind living with a girl?”

Akaashi lifts his glasses to rub his own eyes, trying to wake up a little before he put up with this dumbasssery. “No,” he answers simply, “and my name is Akaashi.”

“Akaaaaaaashi!” Bokubro says, drawing out the a for _far_ too long and not actually responding to Akaashi’s answer. Kuroobro looks at him analytically. _A-nal-y-ti-cal-ly_. It really wasn’t that hard to say…

“Are you _sure_ about that?” Kuroobro says, his eyes slanted and very, very suspicious. Akaashi raises a brow back at him,

“Uh, yeah, I am… was I supposed to say no..?”

“Kuroo, it’s fine. He’s gay,” the girl answers, and Akaashi looks over to her in a momentarily stunned expression. He was impressed as it took her all of two seconds to figure out something that took his parents eighteen years. It took his brother about fourteen years, but even then it wasn’t fair to credit him much as he’d walked in on Akaashi shoving a box of Daniel Radcliffe posters under his bed. If that didn’t scream closeted gay, then what did?

“Really?!” Bokubro says, his eyes widening even more if that was possible. “Like, _gay_ gay?”  
“What gave it away? The glasses or the sweater?” Akaashi says in a flat, flat tone, motioning to his own turtleneck and thin black-framed glasses. Kuroo and Bokubro look him over with a quiet _ohhhhh._

“Good,” Kuroo says to Akaashi’s surprise, “because you wouldn’t have been able to live here if you were-“ he chokes, “ _straight._ ”

They all shudder. “Heterosexual,” Bokubro contributes gingerly in a hushed, disgusted voice, as if he were about to say it three times in a row to summon a demon like Beetlejuice.

“Oh,” Akaashi says, having no clue how to respond to this non-straight cult these people had going on. “Uh, cool.” Even if his tired, lidded expression hadn’t changed one bit, Akaashi felt something in him lighten. Whether he realized it or not, he had been insecure that his roommates would think he was perverse to ask for an apartment with other guys, and he feared that once they discovered he was gay, they’d think he was secretly in love with them or something. Akaashi wasn’t sure what his “type” was yet, but he was _certain_ he didn’t have a thing for straight cis dudes who spend their weekends disrespecting women in strip clubs. But here was a safe space that Akaashi could never really get his hands on; his older brother was kind, but he’d never be able to understand what it was like being gay in a conservative household. Yet, here, in this ugly, kind of messy, weird-smelling apartment with two man-children, was a place full of people who understood him and they had hardly even met.

And that’s how Akaashi Keiji signed the lease to an apartment filled with three very weird strangers. The girl, Kiyoko, was the wise lesbian of the house. Kuroo, bedhead guy, was the very definition of chaotic bisexual. And Bokuto (not “Bokubro”), who looked like he was always on a caffeine high, was a “gay man with a teeny tiny bit of sexual attraction to women because they’re too hot to not appreciate.” _“So, just bisexual?”_ Akaashi had asked with a small frown and brows furrowed in confusion. Kuroo had simply chuckled and patted his back gruffly, _“oh, Akaashi. If only Bokuto were that simple.”_

Akaashi, on the other hand, was just gay.

An apartment full of homos.

What could _possibly_ go wrong?

____________________

As it turned out, a lot could go wrong. Kuroo hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Bokuto couldn’t cook for shit, so while the two of them argued and somehow ended up having a contest of who could bang a pot the loudest, Akaashi and Kiyoko ordered some food to be brought to the apartment.

Akaashi had been right. They were loud, really loud, but they were already starting to grow on him. He always thought that living a quiet life and slipping under the radar was the only way to survive. But, after less than a few hours with Bokuto, his mind was already changing on that; the look in his wide, owlish, amber eyes could only be defined as true happiness with himself and his life, and Bokuto was a lot of things, but he was not someone who slipped under the radar. And, even as Bokuto grabbed Akaashi by the shoulders and literally shook him just before he was about to step out the door, exclaiming _“please move in with us Akaaaaashi!!!”_ and Akaashi pretended to be irritated as he said _“I signed the leased, Bokuto-san. I’ll see you tomorrow. And please, just call me Akaashi.”,_ he still smiled all the way home.

Maybe loud wasn’t so bad after all.


	2. The Douchebag Jar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi moves in to the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things will get more interesting next chapter ^^ just building the dynamics here.  
> Enjoy!

Loud was terrible. Akaashi had a headache.

He started the day _terribly_ as he had awoken to the sound of pounding on his bedroom door and a way too cheerful _“Akaaaashi! Wakey-wakey! Time to move in!”_ spoken in the shrill voice that could only belong to his new bonkers roommate that Akaashi was already growing weary of. He hadn’t even officially moved in yet. In fact, it had only been just two days ago that he first met these crazy guys and their suspiciously sane lesbian roommate.

As it turned out, Bokuto had been let into the house by his mother, who had been frightened by the owl-reincarnate of a guy who had a big, bright smile and a too-loud voice. It was eight in the morning. In all honestly, Akaashi was entirely shocked that his parents liked Bokuto as he had been sure they would be irritated by his sudden bursting into their home. But apparently not as here the guy was, banging on Akaashi’s door without abandon.

Akaashi made sure to groan loud enough for Bokuto to hear from the other side of the door as he rolled out of bed, shimmied into a pair of pajama pants he left on the floor, and was still pulling on a shirt by the time he opened the door. “Hi-hi! Ready to move some boxes?”

Akaashi squints in momentary bafflement. When did he give this man child permission to come to his house..?  
Oh, right. Kiyoko gave Bokuto his number, which had been a big mistake, for Akaashi received a flurry of texts at 2 in the morning begging Akaashi to let Bokuto help him move into the apartment. Bokuto’s reasoning had been _“I just don’t want you to abandon us! You seem really cool! <3”_

He rubs his eyes and nods, stepping aside to let Bokuto come into his room. He was sure his hair was sticking up everywhere, and he just now wiped at a string of drool from his chin. And he hadn’t grabbed his glasses, so he was something close to legally blind at the moment.

“Wow, everything’s so neatly packed! And labeled?! You remind me of Kiyoko!”

Akaashi hums and trips over a stray shoe, curses, and uses this as an excuse to fall back onto his unmade bed. He closes his eyes. Ah. Much better.

And then there was a sudden very _sharp_ light. “Wakey-wakeyyyy!”

Bokuto had opened the curtains. Like the evil individual he was. Akaashi felt like his eyeballs were set on fire, or like he’d come out of the shadows and stared at the blindingly white sidewalk on a sunny day. With a vampire-worthy hiss, Akaashi rolled over more and pulled the blanket over his head. The sound of Bokuto’s loud whining was muffled as Akaashi also was genius enough to muffle a pillow over his head.

He fell asleep to the feeling of Bokuto shaking at his shoulders and poking at his spine to try and get him to move, but finding little success. Actually, Akaashi didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep until he opened his eyes to silence, and a sense of peace that most certainly wouldn’t exist if Bokuto were in the room with him. With a small, disgruntled sound, Akaashi sat up in bed and looked around to see all of the boxes previously stacked around his room gone. His closet door hung open only to reveal that the contents had also been emptied out. He felt like he was in a hotel room as it was so bare, as the usual posters had been packed away, and the lights he’d hung up were wound in a ball at the bottom of his decorations box, which also was missing from its previous place on the floor. The room felt naked and void of any identification.

So, in a second attempt, Akaashi got to his feet, but he put on his glasses this time as he poked his head out the door.

“Keiji! Finally. I was just about to wake you.”

Akaashi blinks, rubs his eyes, and stares ahead of him to see if his eyes were failing him. They weren’t. His mother and Bokuto were sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking tea (Bokuto didn’t seem to enjoy it. He’d take a sip, cringe, set the mug down and take another sip a few minutes later as if he forgot that he didn’t like the beverage) and talking about… well, whatever it was the two of them had in common.

“Your name is Keiji?” Bokuto said, round eyes even rounder as he gingerly set his tea mug down. Akaashi just nods and slinks into the seat next to him. “Can I call you Keiji?”  
“No,” Akaashi mumbles, ignoring the look his mom shoots at him.

“No to which question?” Bokuto asks with too much hope. What time was it, anyway? Nine?

“My name is Keiji,” Akaashi says with blunt simplicity, and he hops off of his chair to root through the drawers to find some strong, strong tea to wake him up at least a little, yet his expression tightened as he noticed his favorite tea was missing. Hm. Must’ve packed it up. Which reminded him… “You didn’t already move my stuff, did you?”

“I sure did!” Bokuto chirps, his legs swinging excitedly from where he had moved to sit on the kitchen counter behind Akaashi. Akaashi’s heart sinks because god dammit this guy was too good. He kind of acted like an idiot sometimes, but his heart was just so pure. Akaashi’s heart hurt a little imagining Bokuto hauling the boxes of all of Akaashi’s belongings into the apartment. “All of your boxes are in your room! I hope that’s okay… you have a lot of cool stuff! I like your posters! You have so so many sweaters though, I think you have more sweaters than anyone I’ve ever met, even my grandma! And you have a keyboard, too? Do you play piano? Oh, and-”

“Thanks, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi interrupts before Bokuto talked his ear off for another few centuries, “I appreciate it. You could’ve woken me up, though.” Akaashi looks at him from over his shoulder and for a second, his voice was void of that flat drowsiness it seemed to have inherited from his lacking sleep schedule. Instead it was light, and genuine, and real as he couldn’t remember the last time he’d met someone with as pure intentions as Bokuto. Maybe that was because he hadn’t met someone quite like Bokuto before.

“It’s no problem! I like lifting things.” Bokuto quiets, like he was cutting himself off from saying more. Oh no. Had Akaashi given him the impression that he didn’t like when he rambled? Akaashi thinks through this seriously as he stirs the milk into his black tea. He actually quite liked listening to Bokuto talk. It sounded kind of creepy now that he thought about it, but it was relaxing…

“I like sweaters,” Akaashi says very suddenly, suddenly enough that his mother looked at him with raised brows from across the kitchen. He shot her a _mind your own business_ look that was powerful enough to make her turn around and go back to aggressively playing some scrabble game on her iPad. That answers the question of where Akaashi inherited his elderly-woman-tendencies. “They’re just… nice. And I have a lot of them because they’re useless once they’re worn thin, and the lint starts to roll off of them.” Akaashi thinks for a moment. What else was it that Bokuto mentioned? Oh yes, the keyboard. “I do play piano.” But all he was met with was silence. Was that too weird?

When he turned around, though, he was met with nothing more than an absolutely delighted expression from Bokuto. Aw. That was really cute, actually. _Wait, what._ Akaashi takes a long, long sip of tea. “You remind me of a cat,” Bokuto says unthoughtfully, and Akaashi’s temporarily somewhat fond expression fell completely flat. “Like… you just remind me of a cat.”

“Do I?” Akaashi pads away from the kitchen with his warm mug in hand, and he listens to the sound of Bokuto’s feet hitting the floor from jumping off of the counter top and scuttling over to walk behind him. “And why is that?”

“You look sleepy. And you talk like a cat would.”

“Cats don’t talk, Bokuto-san.”

“But if they _did-”_

“I’m going to change now, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi turned around, shut his bedroom door, and set his tea down. But, to his surprise and dismay, Bokuto kept talking to the door, his voice raised so Akaashi would be able to hear him through it. This guy just kept surprising Akaashi time after time, but nonetheless, Akaashi listened and hummed in response, even if Bokuto couldn’t hear. He was grateful his own stupid smiles were hidden behind this door whenever Bokuto would say something like _“having you as a roommate will be so fun, Akaashi! You’ll see!”_

Akaashi was yet to assess that, but he had to admit… he was quite excited.

____________________

“Before you _officially_ become part of the apartment brethren-”

“I already signed the lease, Kuroo-san.”

“-you must hear the rules.”

Akaashi sighs. He didn’t have much choice. Kiyoko had excused herself to use the bathroom a half hour ago and hadn’t come back even though Akaashi heard the _Friends_ theme song coming from the direction of her room. Kuroo and Bokuto had sat him down on their chip-infested leather couch with a crumpled list of illegible rules written in red crayon. Who the hell were these guys?

“First of all, we have the Douchebag Jar.” Akaashi raises a brow slowly,  
“The what now?”

“Douchebag Jar,” Kuroo repeats, pointing a lanky finger to a clear jar almost filled to the brim with dollar bills. “You have to put in a dollar if you say anything, well, douchebag-y.”

“It’s mostly just for Oikawa,” Bokuto snickers, “to try and keep him in check.”

“Who’s Oikawa?” Akaashi asks, to which the two of them immediately silent and look at each other before looking back,  
“You should wait a bit before you’re introduced to him,” Kuroo finally says, clearing his throat midway through, “he’s kind of… a lot.”  
“O..kay?” Akaashi brushes away a stray feather from where it stuck out of his sweater. “Any other rules?”

“Don’t drink my Capri Suns,” Bokuto says with surprising stoicalness. “Especially the fruit punch ones.”

“Noted,” Akaashi says, looking back to Kuroo. “Anything else?”  
“Don’t eat all the celery, it’s my favorite vegetable,” Bokuto interjects, “oh, and don’t eat mac and cheese on the carpet in the living room, it’s really hard to get out.”

“Alright,” he responds wearily, “good to know, I guess…”  
“Ah, no singing heavy metal in the shower, don’t piss on the houseplants, but if you really need to piss somewhere, do it over the balcony onto Norma’s patio, she’s a huge _dick_ of an old lady-”

“I’m going to organize my room,” Akaashi announces as an escape, getting up so quickly that the blood rushed to his head all at once but he didn’t care as he was so desperate to go somewhere quiet, “and no, Bokuto-san, you’re not using my Daniel Radcliffe poster as a blanket.” Before Bokuto could so much as whine in protest, Akaashi’s bedroom door swung shut in a sassy slam.

If Kiyoko didn’t live here, Akaashi would’ve been halfway home by now.

(That’s a lie; Akaashi really liked Bokuto and his extensive energy, whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Kiyoko and Akaashi would be besties tho


	3. It's All Fun and Games Until They Kidnap You

Two weeks had passed since Akaashi had officially moved into this chaos apartment.

And moving in had been either the best or worst decision he had ever made in his life.

See, people always would say _“relax, Akaashi-kun, you’re so uptight”_ or anything else along the lines of “chill the heck out, dude, you’re still just a kid” in a way that used to irk him. But now, he was realizing that they had a point; he couldn’t act like a little old woman for his teen years, because when he was _actually_ old, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to… say, crash weddings, or pour oil on the floor and slide across it and pretend it was like ice skating, or go streaking at five in the morning on a school night. (You can’t make this stuff up..)

Apparently, the apartment adjacent to theirs was filled with four equally chaotic people. They came over so often they were practically just a conjoined apartment that was separated by two doors and a good ten feet. Often, Akaashi pitied the other apartment on this floor as they must’ve been suffering for however long they’ve been sandwiched between these two apartments filled with disaster gays, as they called themselves.

In the other apartment was Hinata (a small-looking boy who was apparently eighteen), Daichi (the reasonable one of this crowd; he scared the sense into everybody), Kageyama (this kid had way too much suppressed anger for his own good) and the legendary Oikawa. Kuroo and Bokuto had been right. Oikawa was a lot to handle. Actually, the way that Akaashi and Oikawa had met was pretty traumatic. Akaashi had been minding his own business, stowing some of his groceries away in the fridge when he heard someone walk up behind him, stand so close that he could feel their breath on his neck, Akaashi had been close to turning around and politely asking them to mind his space when suddenly he felt a hand wind up so much he could hear the wind to it, and then come down to smack his ass unfortunately hard in a clapping sound so loud that even Kenma (Kuroo’s boyfriend who often lounged around the apartment) woke up from his nap.

Cheeks red and flushed in embarrassment, Akaashi had turned around with an incredulous look. “Yahoo!” the guy cheers, lips stretching into an insufferable grin as soon as Akaashi meets his eyes, but it falters just a little at the venom coming from Akaashi’s glare.

“What the fuck,” Akaashi says as more of a statement than a question, cursing quietly as he could feel his ass tingling from where Oikawa had spanked him. Geez. This guy really knew how to spank someone… _Kinda sus…_

“You just have a nice ass,” Oikawa says with a terrible wink that made Akaashi want to go and vomit, “I had to spank it. Anygays.”

Any _gays?_

“You must be Akaashi-kun! I’ll call you Aka-chan!” Oikawa’s voice was flamboyant like syrup, thick and intoxicatingly sweet. Akaashi sighs deeply,

“Just Akaashi is fine,” he says in a tired voice, “and please don’t just come behind me like that. Especially because I don’t know you…”  
Oikawa gasps dramatically, “you don’t _know_ who I am?? Me, _the_ Oikawa Tooru?! Kuroo and Bokuto, those bastards!” He puts the back of his hand to his forehead in a feigned faint.

Akaashi’s lips form an “o” as realization hit him. “Ah. So _you’re_ Oikawa. That makes a whole lot of sense,” he muses, shutting the fridge door and leaning against it, “twenty dollars in the douchebag jar.”

Oikawa pales. “You know about that?”  
“I do,” Akaashi answers flatly, pointing to the legendary jar, “come on, pay up. I don’t think it gets any more douchebag than spanking someone you’ve never met before.”  
And so that was how Akaashi met Oikawa, the man, the myth, the legend. He had a red handprint on his ass for three days full days after that.

____________________

“Akaaaaaashi! Kaashi! Kashi-kash!”

Akaashi had made a discovery about Bokuto. He wasn’t dangerous whatsoever because really, you could hear him from miles away before you saw him.

Akaashi didn’t move from his criss-cross position on his bed that was currently spread with his psychology textbook and extensive notes. He’d been sitting like this for at least three hours. Actually, he’d been like this since he woke up, apart from one bathroom break where Bokuto almost convinced him to join his, Kuroo’s, and Kenma’s Super Smash Bros tournament.

“Yes?” Akaashi asks patiently, not even looking up as he heard the familiar click of his door opening, and the rustling of Bokuto sitting on a clear spot on the bed beside him that wasn’t covered in notes or textbook.

“Wanna play football?”

“No,” Akaashi answers without a beat, pushing his glasses up from where they had been slipping down his nose as he turned the page of his textbook and scrutinized it before scrawling something down in the open notebook in his lap. Bokuto whines loudly,

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pleaaaase?”

“No.”

“Pleaaaaa-”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi interjects, silencing Bokuto’s never-ending of the extension of the vowel, “no.”

“But _Akaashi,_ you’ve been sitting here studying all day, and classes only started yesterday!”  
Akaashi heaves a heavy sigh. “If I understand the concepts now, I won’t have to stress as much during finals week.” Bokuto quiets.

“Okay, but… let’s have some fun! We haven’t gotten to do anything fun yet!” Bokuto sounded so bummed that Akaashi actually considered listening for a minute. The very tone of Bokuto’s usually energetic voice in a sad slump had his hands pausing from turning the page of the textbook, but he quickly returned to his senses and resumed his actions.

“I need to do this,” Akaashi says sternly, more of to himself than to Bokuto, “I need to be top of my class, and in order to do that, I have to study hard.”

“Hmm, okay, I understand, Akaashi. Have fun studying.”

Oh, how nice, Bokuto came to a logical conclusion.

_Wait…_

Akaashi’s eyes widened as he realized that there was no way in hell that Bokuto would ever do such a thing. But, just as he was raising his head to see what devious plans Bokuto had now, he suddenly felt himself be lifted into the air. He yelped and scrambled to grab onto whatever was holding him up, which turned out to be Bokuto. “Bokuto-san!” he says in distress, hands tightening on their grip on- holy shit, were these _biceps?_ “Put me down,” he tries to say calmly, but the way Bokuto grinned up at him had his voice wavering.

“Nope!” Bokuto chirps in all cheerfulness, adjusting Akaashi in his grip so that he was strewn over his shoulder. Akaashi emits a muffled, short screech in the moment he thought Bokuto might drop him. “I’m saving you from yourself, Kaashi! I got ‘em, Kuroo!”

Despite Akaashi’s incessant protests and squirming, it was to no avail as Bokuto was already hauling him from his dimly lit, inviting bedroom and into the too-bright kitchen. Kuroo takes one look at the two of them and bursts out laughing in that chaotic hyena cackle he’s got. “This is kidnap,” Akaashi says bitterly, going limp with defeat which only makes Kuroo laugh even harder. This seemed to set off Bokuto, whose thunderous laugh vibrated enough for Akaashi to feel.

Without warning, the door busts open and in comes Oikawa and his head of tidy brown hair and ovally eyes and that insufferable smug expression. “Sup fuckers- hey! Are you kidnapping Aka-chan without me?!” There was Oikawa’s shrill, demanding voice again.

“Akaashi-san!” And there was Hinata, or at least, from what Akaashi could tell of the bright orange tufts of hair peaking out from behind Oikawa. “Are you going to play with us?? Are you?? You should come to our volleyball games, too!”

“Now you’re talking, Hinata!” Bokuto bellows, and Akaashi cringes as that was right in his ear. He swore his ears were ringing after that.

“Inside voice, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi reminds him, to which Bokuto nods hurriedly and quickly apologizes before he rubs his hands together in excitement,

“So what are the teams going to be? I call being on Akaashi’s team!”  
“No fair,” Oikawa whines, “I wanted to have Aka-chan!”

“We can be on the same team, then,” Bokuto says with a frown, and Akaashi gives them both a long, tired face. He still as suspended in the air, his middle leaned over Bokuto’s shoulder and his legs dangling. He saw Oikawa looking at his back with that same look when they met. He shivered at the flashback. If Oikawa spanked him again, he could say goodbye to his left eyebrow.

“No way,” Oikawa says with a sassy snort, “I’m not gonna be on a team with your loud ass.”

As Bokuto’s face fell as he defensively began defending himself, Akaashi patted his firm shoulder in mild irritation, “Bokuto-san, please put me down.”

“How do we know you won’t run away, Aka-chan?” Oikawa says with a slowly raising brow. Akaashi deadpans,

“I’ll bite you if you don’t put me down.”

Bokuto put him down in a hurry with a mumbled, “you really are like a cat..” before Akaashi muttered his thanks and disappeared in his room again, but only to change out of his sweater (this was dark gray oversized sweater number three: his favorite) and plaid pajama pants for a plain long-sleeve and jeans and Vans. He also swapped his glasses for contacts and suddenly, he looked less like a shut-in college kid and more like… well, a teenager.

Maybe these guys were having a positive impact after all.

“Aka-chan! If you don’t get out here, I’m gonna make all of your tea into iced tea!”

In some way or another.

____________________

Akaashi ended up on a team with Kenma, Hinata, and Daichi, leaving Oikawa, Bokuto, Kuroo, and Kageyama on a team. Kiyoko escaped by making plans with her sweet girlfriend, Yachi, who at first was intimidated by Akaashi’s stoic silence but it turned out they got along quite well given a few hours over dinner to talk about their favorite Harry Potter movies and discuss the depths of Draco Malfoy fan-fiction.

Teaming Kageyama and Oikawa had been a _huge_ mistake. Teaming Kuroo and Bokuto was an even bigger one.

Despite Akaashi’s observation that the other team was at a much more fair advantage on teams of muscle mass (the only person on the other team who couldn’t crush Akaashi to a pulp if they wanted to was Oikawa) aside from Daichi, who looked like he had a fair build. “Don’t worry about it,” Kuroo shouts from across the field, “Kenma will surprise you with his feistiness in football. Just be glad you’re not against him.”

“Kuroo won’t surprise you,” Kenma murmurs dubiously, a little grin coming across his face at the frown forming on Kuroo’s, “he’s pretty stupid when it comes to football.” At that, Akaashi snickers, and Kuroo frowns even more.

“Hey, what did you say about me?” Kuroo says, to which Oikawa rolls his eyes,

“Probably that you’re an idiot when you play football. You might be a smart volleyball player, but you’re _useless_ on the football field.”

Kuroo clicks his tongue, “why you little-”

“Let’s start!” Daichi booms, making the rest of them jump a little, even Akaashi, who inherently hadn’t been doing anything wrong. And so, they did; Akaashi familiarized himself with the feeling of his planted feet, the slight squat downward he took, and the almost missable feeling of the damp grass seeping in through the sides of his thin tennis shoes. Akaashi found himself facing the round owl eyes of Bokuto, and he realized he’d never been this close to his face before. He wasn’t _that_ close but from here he could see how the sparse sunlight made the gold flecks in his eyes sparkle brilliantly. Giving Bokuto a quick look up and down showed that Akaashi was definitely at a disadvantage in terms of height and muscle mass, but maybe if he slipped between him and Kuroo, he’d have a chance of being open for a pass…

“Ready to lose, Agaashi?” Bokuto says and wiggles his eyebrows in a way that has Akaashi fighting everything in him not to laugh in amusement.

“We’ll see about that,” Akaashi replies, just before Daichi blows a whistle and off they go. As expected, Bokuto’s first move is to lunge forward to grab for Akaashi and tackle him, so Akaashi quickly darts to the side, just managing to slip through the wall of Bokuto and Kuroo. At first, Bokuto stumbled forward in momentary confusion before he turned around to see that Akaashi had slipped from his fingers.

“Hinata-kun!” Akaashi calls, waving his hands above his head, “pass here!” Hinata had somehow dove _through_ Kageyama’s legs to escape his tackle while Kenma did something that ended up with Kuroo with his back to the grass looking like he wouldn’t stand up anytime soon. Daichi, on the other hand, was trying to ward off Oikawa, who was guarding him like a dog. On cue, Hinata took the football and threw it with a lopsided spiral but by some miracle, Akaashi caught it and sprinted. What he didn’t have in muscle he made up for in speed. He was surprisingly quick on his feet, especially in short distances like this sprint. He can distantly hear Daichi cheering and Hinata obnoxiously shouting some cheerleading chant he made up on the fly followed by Kageyama shouting _“shut up you loud idiot!”_

And, just as his feet passed the somewhat distinct mark that signified his touchdown (it was Kuroo’s shoe was they couldn’t come up with anything better; Bokuto’s shoe marked the line for the opposite side), he turned around to face his team, football tucked under his arm, the rush of adrenaline wearing off and that familiar feeling of accomplishment, the feel of the burn in his quads and upper calves from the quick run he’d succeeded in, and he took all of it in as he’d almost forgotten what that felt like—

And of course, it had to be ruined.

Out of absolutely _nowhere,_ Akaashi was tackled to the ground with the force of a bull. He shouted out in surprise and the football came tumbling out of his arms as he felt his back make contact with the muddy grass below. He grimaced but first squirmed in a panic as he couldn’t even tell _what_ had done this to him. He found himself tangled in beefy limbs so he was relieved to discover that this was a human and not a bear. But what if this was a _bad_ human? Or even worse, one of Akaashi’s exes?

In a frenzy, Akaashi wriggled away from this mystery capturer and ignored the ridiculous sounds of Kuroo’s laughter as he looked in wonder to see that it was Bokuto who had tackled him. “Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks in disbelief, minor irritation laced in his tone, “what was that for?”

“I was trying to stop you from scoring, silly!” Bokuto says with puffed cheeks as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’d already scored,” Akaashi deadpans, hand raising to pinch the skin between his brows as his other hand motioned to Kuroo’s shoe which was in front of them after all.

“Ohhhh,” Bokuto hums, eyes rounding before his cheeks flushed in a deep embarrassment, “I’m sorry, Akaashi! I hope I didn’t hurt you!”

“Bokuto-san, it’s fine-”

“No, it’s not! I’m a failure! And now you’re going to move out of the apartment because of me!” Bokuto wails, to which Akaashi’s eyes actually widen and he looks at Kuroo with a _what the fuck is this_ expression to which he grins that trademark, shit-eating grin. Akaashi shoots him back with an unimpressed look.

“Bokuto-san, calm down,” Akaashi tries, reaching forward to pat Bokuto’s shoulder. They both still lay on the ground, Akaashi sitting while Bokuto was splayed on his stomach. Flecks of mud had made their way to his face. But, as soon as Akaashi’s hand just barely brushed Bokuto’s shoulder, he writhed and howled out, albeit dramatically, and animatedly sits up.

“I broke my shoulder!” Bokuto whines, trying to crane his neck at the impossible angle that he could get a good view of his back. “Akaashi, I broke my shoulder! This is my punishment! This is the karma for tackling you like that!”

Despite the minor concern flickering on his face, Akaashi just sighs, “it’s not broken. Trust me, you’d know if it was. Now come on, we’re going to the ER.”  
Kuroo just laughs harder while Oikawa said something like “serves you right you big baby” while Hinata was shouting “Bokuto-senpai broke his shoulder! We’ll never play volleyball ever again!”  
Daichi just looked flat out _irritated_ so in short, Akaashi deemed himself the most qualified for the job of herding Bokuto to the hospital.

“I don’t have health insurance,” Bokuto mumbles as Akaashi helped him up to his feet and strung his arm around his own shoulders. Akaashi doesn’t even bat an eye as he wasn’t shocked whatsoever.

“I thought you’d say that. I have someone you can see for free.”

Between Bokuto’s whines about how he was going to die from the terrible, terrible pain and pleads for Akaashi to call his mother and tell her that her son loved her, he thanked Akaashi, somewhat.

Akaashi just groaned.

“Before you go tackling people, at least consider the consequences.”

Bokuto quieted after that.

____________________

It was quite hilarious how it took a full fifteen minutes in the waiting room for Bokuto to realize he wasn’t in just _any_ doctor’s office.

Akaashi had learned to tune out Bokuto’s incessant whines and questions as he pulled out a book from the bag he’d retrieved from his bag, turning page after page, ears deaf to the constant _Akaashi! Akaashi! Akaashi!_ that attracted the attention of many other people trying to mind their own business in the waiting room. It was stuffy, and smelled like latex gloves and old women, but Akaashi didn’t mind. A good look at Bokuto’s shoulder signified that it wasn’t broken after all. His theory was that it was a muscle strain or sprain of sorts, but he was no expert.

But see, for the first five minutes of sitting in the stiff, flat-cushioned wooden chair of the waiting room, Akaashi had actually tried interacting with Bokuto, but it was really no use as the guy was practically vibrating with nervousness and the inability to sit still. Akaashi’s attempts of _look at this magazine, Bokuto-san_ failed until Bokuto had resorted to leaning over Akaashi’s shoulder and reading what he was reading.

“What’s this?” he asks, clearly straining to practice that inside voice Akaashi had begged of him.

“ _The Great Gatsby_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald,” Akaashi answers immediately, eyes darting a little to the side to notice how if Bokuto ducked his chin just slightly, it would rest on his shoulder. “It’s beautifully written.” Bokuto just nodded and Akaashi was impressed to find that he read along with him for another solid five minutes. Occasionally, he’d point to a word and ask its meaning, or sometimes pronunciation. So far, Akaashi had helped Bokuto with “perfunctory,” _“_ anomaly,” “bourgeois” (Bokuto’s butchered pronunciation of that actually drew a little giggle from Akaashi) and “imbecile.”

But, sadly, this momentary peace faded as Bokuto soon got bored. _Again._

And then came one question that Akaashi actually answered.

“Akaashi, are we not in a doctor’s office??” Bokuto asked in a complete panic, his voice falling far from the indoor-voice spectrum he had been somewhat following before.

“No,” Akaashi answers without the bat of an eye as he turned the page of his book in a completely unbothered manner. This seemed to upset Bokuto even more.

“What?!” he wails, and Akaashi actually shuts his book.

“Bokuto-san. You realize this waiting room has multiple diagrams of female reproductive systems, a strictly female occupancy, and magazines on tips of how to- well, just look at the titles yourself,” Akaashi says, waving his hand toward the various magazines ranging from exciting titles like “how to not wanna die on your period!” and “the dangers of unprotected sex: the female perspective.”

“Is this a geologist?!” Bokuto says, his eyes wide as saucers.

“ _Gynecologist,”_ Akaashi hisses as a woman next to him was looking increasingly more and more irked. “Yes, Bokuto-san. This is a gynecologist’s office. But my friend has gone to med school, so figuring out what’s wrong with your shoulder is perfectly within her field of knowledge.”

“But, but Akaashi! I-” Bokuto looks around sheepishly before (loudly) whispering, “I don’t have a- a- vagina!”

“Really?” Akaashi answers in a tone dripping with sarcasm, voice muffled from behind where his hands were hiding his face from the people staring at the odd pair, “I had no idea.”

“What, do you have one?” The funny thing is how _genuine_ the question sounds.

Akaashi sputters in surprise. “N-no, no-”

“Mr. Bokuto?”  
Akaashi had never been more grateful for an escape as he leapt to his feet instantly and helped Bokuto to his own as he walked through the walk of shame of all the women staring at the two of them. They seemed more amused than anything, mercifully sparing Akaashi’s dignity enough to not say anything. Akaashi placed Bokuto’s arm around his shoulder again to relieve as much pressure as possible from his opposite shoulder, but despite Akaashi’s legs wobbling from taking most of Bokuto’s weight, Bokuto still complained and insisted that he was going to die.

“Hey, Kaori,” Akaashi says weakly as he follows the young woman down the hall. He’d known her since high school, and as the manager to his volleyball team, they got to know each other pretty well. There _had_ been that awkward moment when Kaori asked him to the dance, and Akaashi had to explain to her that he, in fact, didn’t like girls as he had been that desperate to not hurt her feelings. As it turned out, she was super understanding, and they ended up being pretty good friends.

“Hi-hi, Keiji!” Kaori opens the door to a room that had even _more_ evidence that this was the office of a gynecologist. “It’s been a while, huh? What’s your… friend got himself into?”  
“Likely just a muscle strain,” Akaashi says with an unimpressed expression as he lets go of Bokuto with an _oof_ once he’s sitting on the padded bench. “He’s not going to die. You can ignore him.”

“Why can’t _I_ call you Keiji?” Bokuto asks, his legs swinging from where he sat.

“Hush, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi mutters, hopping up to sit on a chair and resume where he had been in his book. Kaori laughs cordially as she gently eases up the material of Bokuto’s shirt and inspects his shoulder, at first placing a hand over it but Bokuto yelped loud enough that she didn’t so much as think of trying that again.

“So, how did you two meet?” Kaori starts blissfully.

“We’re roommates,” Akaashi answers levelly, his eyes flickering up for just a moment, long enough to see that Bokuto wasn’t wearing a shirt so in a hurry, he looked back down. Dammit, why was he so fit? That wasn’t fair.

“Yep!” Bokuto pipes, “what’s that?” He points to a diagram on the wall, but does so with his injured arm and immediately hisses, but he does look back to Kaori in curiosity. Akaashi looks up in curiosity, but quickly ducks his head back down once he took notice of what it was.

“It’s a diagram of the menstrual cycle,” Kaori says, voice still cheerful, but the amusement clear as she wrapped Bokuto’s shoulder tightly.

“The menstrual what now?” Bokuto answers with a little head tilt that strongly reminded Akaashi of an owl.

“I’m guessing he just has a muscle strain, then?” Akaashi interrupts, clapping is book shut and rising to his feet in a quick motion to cut off the ending of that conversation.

“Correct,” Kaori says, “it’s very minor, but make sure he takes some Advil and ices his shoulder for twenty minutes every other hour for the first two or three days. Oh, and if you have a heating pad, that’ll help as well.”

“Understood.” Akaashi ignores Bokuto’s protests of not knowing what the “menstrual what now?” is and practically tugged him out of the office. “Thanks, Kaori. I really owe you one.”

“Yeah, you really do. See ya, Keiji!”


	4. Gay Panic, Cyndi Lauper, and Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's some hurt/comfort, I know you want it <3

A week and forty dollars in the douchebag jar later (entirely from Oikawa aside from the two dollars from Kuroo for shouting “nice cock!” at Akaashi while he was on the phone with his mother), Akaashi still somehow found himself in this apartment. He learned yet more about the dynamic between the roommates: everyone had bets on whether or not Kageyama and Hinata would get together by winter break, Kuroo and Bokuto had an ongoing competition of who could down the most beers without throwing up (so far, Kuroo was in the lead with seven), Kiyoko and Akaashi did most of the cooking, and Oikawa was elected to do the dishes.

As predicted, Bokuto’s shoulder healed after two painstaking days, but really that was only because of Akaashi as he was the one to reinforce the icing and heating pad and resting. If it weren’t for Akaashi, Bokuto was going to go and play football with Kuroo and Daichi the day after he attained the injury.

“So, Akaashi-san, are you going to go to the wedding?” Yachi asks from where she sat in the center of Kiyoko’s bed, neat aside from the fluffy blankets haphazardly thrown across the sides. She and Kiyoko were busy giving Akaashi a makeover. His hair was pulled from his face with a pink, fuzzy headband, skin still soft from the green face mask he’d put on earlier. He’d become accustomed to these midnight gatherings in Kiyoko’s room where he’d take a brief break from his studies to, at first, just watch _Friends_ with Yachi and Kiyoko, but eventually, that turned into self-care routines. Tonight was the first night he was letting them put makeup on him as truly he’d never worn any before.

Akaashi shrugs and closes his eyes as Yachi requested him to. “I’m not sure. I don’t know how I feel about herding Bokuto away from his ex for an entire afternoon and night.” The morning before, Kuroo slapped a wedding invitation on the table the group was gathered around, saying “time to get laid, sluts” before he retreated from wherever he’d come from. The wedding was apparently for Oikawa’s distant relative, but Akaashi wasn’t sure if he believed that. It was three weekends away, and though he didn’t have any conflicting plans whatsoever, Akaashi wasn’t sure if that was really something he’d want to associate with, especially because apparently Bokuto’s toxic high school ex somehow always ended up at these things.

“Valid,” Kiyoko responds, dusting some powder on Akaashi’s cheeks. He scrunches his nose at the peculiar feeling of the thick brush dabbing over his face. “Bokuto always manages to get tangled up with her in some way or another. Only once did they end up actually sleeping together again, but the three other times he called Kuroo at four in the morning asking him to pick him up from… well, once he was on the roof of Denny’s, the other time he was kicked out of the convenience store and the other two he couldn’t figure out how to unlock the apartment.”

Akaashi cringed at how clearly he could imagine Bokuto in these situations. Despite only knowing him for something short of a month, he felt he had a fair feel for what Bokuto was like.

“So who is this ex?” Akaashi asks as Kiyoko allows him to open his eyes after she sprays something flowery-smelling over him. His face felt damp, especially on his lids, just above his lash line. Kiyoko and Yachi exchange a look before Yachi clears her throat and pulls out a little tube from her glittery makeup bag, taking off the cap to reveal a pointy, crimson-colored lipstick. Akaashi narrows his eyes. “Absolutely not,” he says sternly enough for Yachi to put back the lipstick right where it came from.

“Worth a try,” she says in amusement.

Akaashi couldn’t help but wonder why they were dodging the subject of Bokuto’s ex.

He wouldn’t pry, but the curiosity wouldn’t leave him.

Akaashi meets Kiyoko’s eyes, raises a brow slowly as she was invested with doing something to his brows, and she sighs lightly. “Bokuto’s ex is…”

“A bitch!” Yachi pipes in with surprising enthusiasm, her brows furrowed over her clear brown eyes.

Kiyoko looks at Yachi with a soft expression and laughs at her girlfriend’s display, “yeah, that’s a way to put it. But… see, she was very manipulative, and she flipped out when Bokuto said he wanted to experiment with guys. Bokuto has a talent for seeing the best in people, but he can’t see anything else. So people often blindside him.”

Akaashi actually frowns at that. People could be so cruel. He considered himself to see people as they were, good and bad, but if it were a scale, it teetered more to the bad. Akaashi was something of a realist, but above all else, he tried to set realistic standards for his relationships. He didn’t expect them to last, and so they didn’t. Whether this was due to his own prediction or due to his own lack of enthusiasm, he didn’t know. His exes sure had a lot to say about that.

“Hm,” Akaashi hums in thought and closes his eyes once more as Kiyoko instructs, and flinches lightly at the feeling of a brush just above the tear ducts of his eyes. “Okay, I’ll come to the wedding.”  
Akaashi hadn’t even processed what he said even after the words left his mouth and Kiyoko froze from where her brush was on the far tip of his eye. Yachi’s laughter at Joey and Phoebe’s spectacles on _Friends_ even halted for a moment. “Wait, seriously?”  
He gulps. Why _did_ he say that? He didn’t even know why he agreed to this. Maybe it was because his heart ached at the vision of Bokuto calling from the roof of Denny’s, begging Kuroo to pick him up, voice slurring with the beers he’d downed and eyes filled with the memories of emotions he’d lived through in the past life of his relationship.

Or maybe he just was bored.

(Let’s go with the latter option of the two.)

“Yeah, why not?” Akaashi says, but apparently he didn’t fake sounding certain well enough as Yachi still gave him a sideways look before she grinned with pure excitement. She actually was similar to Hinata, just less shameless and a more skittish.

“Awesome! Now we’ll have someone other than Kiyoko to have a chance at keeping Bokuto in order!”

“We’ve given up on Oikawa,” Kiyoko informs him, “he’s far too much of a wild card for anyone to control. Even Daichi. Okay, now you can open your eyes.”

Akaashi opens his eyes, but this time, there’s a mirror being held in front of him. He stares at his reflection and for a moment, he doesn’t recognize it. He looks airbrushed, like some Snapchat filter than breezed over pores and the dark bags under his eyes. His cheeks looked just a little pink, highlighter smudged on his nose and cheeks. That affect kind of made him look like some breed of fairy. The top lids of his eyes were lined with sparse liquid eyeliner and dots of white, sparkly eyeshadow on his tear ducts and swooping under his set of lower lashes. He blinked once, then twice. He wasn’t sure what he thought of this as, truthfully, he only allowed Kiyoko and Yachi to put makeup on him because he was bored and didn’t mind.

“You look so good!” Yachi enthuses, turning Akaashi by the shoulders so she could get a better look at him. “I mean, seriously! You look like a model!”  
Akaashi became a little flustered by that, “ah, thanks, Yachi… You both are talented makeup artists."  
“It helps when you have a good model to practice on,” Kiyoko says in her usual soft tone, but it was laced with something sweeter as she leaned forward and pressed a little kiss to Yachi’s hair. Yachi’s cheeks turn pink but soon she giggles and presses a little kiss on Kiyoko’s shoulder.

After about a half-hour of surfing Netflix and Akaashi listening to Kiyoko and Yachi recount their greatest high school party stories, he decided it was time to return to his studying (and get the makeup off his face) but not after they took many pictures and Snapchats of him and his “new look.” 

____________________

Sundays were always the worst.

They went by too slow but too fast at the same time and the entire existence of them made the world seem a little dimmer. Akaashi hadn’t felt actual sunlight on his face since Friday afternoon. Saturday was spent mostly indoors until the night, where he somehow allowed himself to be dragged to a bar for a half hour before he escaped with Kenma and Hinata and played Super Smash Bros over at Kenma’s apartment. Half of the day was already gone and Akaashi’s lids were dragging further and further down, threatening to close completely. His entire body was begging for sleep as his head harnessed a dull headache from staring at the teeny, typed words of his notes on his computer for far longer than he ought to. But, in reality, he’d only been staring at the blinking cursor for ten, twenty, thirty minutes.

Heeding to his own needs for once in this entire weekend, Akaashi rises from his bed, slaps his computer shut and drags his fuzzy-socked feet across the apartment to the fridge. Despite it being 5 pm, he didn’t feel like actually making something, so instead, he found a handful of almonds (what a weirdo, get a real snack, Akaashi). As it turned out, almonds weren’t satisfying to his sugar craving _whatsoever_ so he settled on hot chocolate with an excessive amount of whipped cream.

Despite the background anxiety of sitting around and not _doing_ something like cramming his brain with studying, Akaashi tried his best to sit on the leather couch and relax for once in his life. The apartment was eerily quiet enough that he could actually hear the distant hum of cars honking a few streets away, and very very distant sounds of voices muffled by the thankfully thick walls of the apartment. For just a second, Akaashi closed his eyes and took in the peacefulness of white noise and near-silence. He owed it to himself.

But in this silence, he discovered that he put _way_ too much whipped cream and there was no way he could finish the latter half of his drink. So, he did the only logical thing, which was to offer it to Bokuto. The first time Bokuto came in his room with a half-drank milkshake to offer, Akaashi crinkled his face in disgust and said “that’s unsanitary, Bokuto-san” but it seemed that a month and change with these guys made them bond in ways that allowed the sharing of half-finished food.

With a soft knock on the peeling wood of Bokuto’s door, Akaashi cupped the mug in both hands and nudged the door open with his hip. “Hey, Bokuto-san. I was wondering if you wanted-”

Akaashi froze.

His head snapped upward as he realized that Bokuto was hunched over his bed and not responding. Was he sleeping? Had he disturbed him? Akaashi suddenly felt very stupid. He should mind his own business. Why did he only bring _half_ of a drink? What gave him the right to feel so casual around Bokuto?

But his own self-conscious thoughts dimmed.

Bokuto wasn’t sleeping.

He was crying.

Akaashi set down the warm mug on Bokuto’s cluttered bedside table and sat on the edge of his bed, scattered with scrawled, messy notes. Bokuto lifted his head at the feeling of the bed dipping and his wide, amber eyes widened yet more with an embarrassment clear in his eyes. Akaashi sinks a little. But as he opens his mouth to ask what was wrong, Bokuto bites his shaking lip and muffles a sob behind his wide hand.

Awkwardly, Akaashi scoots forward, timid as he was only acting upon the ache in his chest at the sight of his usual bright-eyed Bokuto like this: face wet with tears, sniffling to keep back the running snot, hair half-limp from its usual gel. He looked like a shell of Bokuto, like half of his spirit had been drained from him. “Hey,” Akaashi starts, hand reaching forward before it retreated back into his own lap. He was trying to catch Bokuto’s gaze, to follow his wandering eyes, but it was impossible. Bokuto was sniffling and sobbing up a storm, visibly trying to hermit further and further into his hoodie. “Hey,” he says a little firmer, and suddenly he feels his own hand clasping against something. Bokuto’s wrist. It must’ve done that subconsciously, but it was too late to take the action back as Bokuto seemed to sink into it. “What’s wrong, Bokuto-san?”  
“I-I-” Bokuto sniffles loudly and shakes his head as his head slumped downward to break their gaze, “I’m- I’m so stupid, Akaashi!”

Akaashi’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected that. But he didn’t say anything. He just let Bokuto keep talking, even if it was more like babbling.

“I’m so- I can’t even do this, I can’t even just _focus!_ What’s wrong- what’s wrong with me?” Bokuto blubbers, but it seemed that talking was making things worse. He looked as though he was digging himself deeper and deeper and deeper into his own despair and burying himself in it, suffocating under the layers of self-deprecation that Akaashi had been blind to before this moment. Who knew that beyond that big, shining smile was… this? Bokuto’s voice breaks and suddenly, his hand rips from Akaashi’s gentle grip and his hands are shielding his face as his entire broad frame quivered. Akaashi’s firm expression faded into something softer as, for this moment, he put aside his own feelings and closed that bit of space that he never seemed to escape from. The little platonic proximity separating them shattered as Akaashi leaned over the bed, papers crinkling under him, and wrapped both arms around Bokuto. It was quick, and sudden, and haphazard and done without fully thinking it through, but it was the best he could do. His arms were twined around Bokuto’s firm shoulders in a too-loose hug, but without a beat, Bokuto tightened the hug himself, enough so that Akaashi felt for an instant that his ribs were being crushed, but as his hands found their way to smoothing over Bokuto’s biceps, his tense form relaxed.

Akaashi felt like he somehow knew how to comfort Bokuto by instinct as he found his hands resting in the roots of his hair, his voice humming from where his head rested atop Bokuto’s; Bokuto was still crying hard, but where he first was shaking uncontrollably, he now only trembled slightly. Akaashi didn’t really know what this was about, only that Bokuto needed him here right now, to hold him and be a shoulder to cry on. Even when he felt Bokuto’s heavy tears and snot create a splotch on his shirt, he didn’t mind.

After an unprecedented amount of time, Bokuto eventually pulled back, but didn’t let go. In fact, they felt closer like this, legs a little tangled together, faces too close to keep Akaashi’s heart still. Why was it doing that?

“Sorry,” Bokuto says weakly, wiping his nose with his sweatshirt sleeve. His voice was thin and wobbling the more he sniffled, but Akaashi only shook his head lightly,

“It’s okay,” he says, hands dropping from where they had rested on Bokuto’s arms. Unless his eyes failed him, it seemed that Bokuto slumped a little at the loss of touch. Probably just a trick of his mind. “Do you feel better now?”  
Bokuto nods his head silently and wipes his watering eyes some more, “yeah… thanks, Kaash…”

Akaashi hums in acknowledgement and tries not to think about the fact that if he scooted just a tiny bit forward, he’d be in Bokuto’s lap. Not that it _mattered_ of course. Just an observation. “Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”

Bokuto tensed at first, and Akaashi opened his mouth, ready for a hasty apology before Bokuto nodded. He silenced.

“I have a hard time studying,” Bokuto said with his head lowered in shame. It seemed that when Akaashi had been soothing him by petting his hair, a lot of the strands had come loose to hang in his face… “It’s been an problem since high school. And I understand the stuff! I just… hate sitting down and trying to cram my brain with notes before the day of the test. And I feel so stupid, y’know? Like, it can’t be that hard if everyone else does it just fine.” Bokuto looks up at Akaashi, and it seemed like he might burst into tears again, and with slightly widened eyes, Akaashi quickly put his arms on Bokuto’s shoulders.

“You’re not stupid,” Akaashi says, trying to buy himself some time to think of ways to comfort him. He sucked at comforting people, and it showed in this moment.

“I am,” Bokuto wallows.

“No,” Akaashi counters, “Bokuto-san, you’re not stupid. Studying sucks, but there are ways to do it without overwhelming yourself. What you’re feeling… this hopelessness. It’s not a sign of stupidity. It’s a sign that your brain wants a way to study that doesn’t involve cramming.” Bokuto tilts his head, so Akaashi continues. “Here, just… you should relax first, yeah? You won’t be able to focus if you’re stressed like this.” In a quick motion, Akaashi pulled himself entirely away from Bokuto and off the bed as he looked around for something, anything. But his eyes only landed on that half-drank cup of hot chocolate that was about 75% whipped cream at this point. He grabs it in desperation and holds out the mug in front of him as if it were some peace offering, but Bokuto only eyed it with complete awe.

“Akaashi… you… made this for me?” He took the mug and peered into it with such intensity, as if he feared the contents would disappear if he blinked. Akaashi nods weakly but quickly he tenses as Bokuto was tearing up all over again. “That’s… that’s so nice of you, A-Akaash-Akaashi-”

“Wait, no, please don’t cry,” Akaashi said desperately, fumbling around to find something to help him. Bokuto’s lip quivered and all of a sudden his lids were fluttering, lashes dewy with fresh tears and oh _no_ Akaashi didn’t know what to do— should he hug him again? Should he take away the hot chocolate? Should he give him _more_ hot chocolate?

Bokuto’s grip tightened on the mug so much it was a miracle the poor clay didn’t break. So, in a quick motion, Akaashi swooped an arm through Bokuto’s up, hauled him to his feet, and exhaled as he noticed that Bokuto was too washed over with surprise and curiosity to object, or cry (thank God). “Come on, let’s go to my room,” Akaashi says, not looking back as he lead Bokuto out the door of his own messy man-cave of a bedroom and over to Akaashi’s much neater quarters. Bokuto stumbled and almost dropped his mug, but his excitement was getting the better of him.

“You never let me go in your room, Akaashi!” Bokuto says cheerfully, his voice still wavering and clogged, but he didn’t have that hopelessness in it any longer.

“With good reason, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi muses, bumping his door open with his knee and leading Bokuto inside. He let go of where he had been dragging him by the elbow and leaned over to plug in his pair of star-shaped lights which, as soon as they were turned on, illuminated the entire room from where the snaked around his mirror, were pined above the doorway and twined around his bed frame. Because it was dark outside, the entire room was lit with a soft yellow glow, and the few lit candles scattered around the room.

“Wow, it’s like a little heaven in here!” Bokuto says, eyes wide and glassy, but filled with stars. Akaashi blinked. “And what are you saying, Kaashi? Look, you have _so_ many mugs in here. You’re just as messy as I am.”

Akaashi frowns as he looks over to where Bokuto pointed to the empty clay mugs crowded on a corner of his desk stacked high with notebooks and textbooks. “Fair enough, you got me there,” Akaashi admits. He turned around to face Bokuto, who was already busying himself with trying on Akaashi’s glasses and saying _“holy shit, man, you like, have really shitty vision!”_

“You can sit, if you’d like,” Akaashi offers as he opens his closet and roots around his stack of records he’d collected over the years, and after some browsing, he settled on an 80s Cyndi Lauper record, shiny but bent along the ages from years of use. He head a heavy _plop_ behind him that signified that Bokuto had most likely settled on his bed, which he couldn’t say was surprising. Being timid wasn’t Bokuto; that was one of Akaashi’s favorite things about him.

After a second of that little scratchy sound the record made before it began to spin, the soft, pad synthesizer of “Time After Time” filled Akaashi’s “little heaven” of a room, as Bokuto called it.

Akaashi turned around and floundered as he debated sitting on the fuzzy carpet or sitting on the bed, but Bokuto was taking up way more than half from how he was all sprawled out like that…

“Come here!” Bokuto said with far too much enthusiasm of someone who was crying hard just minutes ago, and he patted the bed next to him.

Akaashi, at first with timidness, sat on the very edge of the bed before he decided this was more awkward than just laying down. So he laid, staring at his black-painted ceiling, listening as Cyndi Lauper sang with the song instrumentation backing her up, and they sulked in a beautiful lack of words aside from Bokuto’s little “woah”s and “that was cool”s to various parts of the song.

Though, once the song ended, Bokuto turned his head to look to Akaashi. Their shoulders were touching. “That song is so cool! I feel so relaxed! It sounds super familiar, I think my mom likes that song.. or maybe my sister! They’ll be super impressed that I know it now, thanks, ‘Kaash!”

Akaashi just nods, and finds himself relaxing as he’s lost in Bokuto’s eyes. “I’m glad you liked it. Do you feel better now?”  
Bokuto’s brows raised, “woah, that was all just to help me relax? You really are slick, aren’t ya?!”  
“Ah, I was just hoping to help-”

“And you did! I feel so relaxed, and so ready to study! Thanks man!” Bokuto craned his arm to give Akaashi what likely would’ve been a friendly pat on the arm, but he missed, and instead his hand just barely brushed his side from where Akaashi’s shirt had slipped up a little from laying down on the bed. And, in the brief brush of Bokuto’s warm hand against his side, Akaashi’s composure slipped and the tiniest sound of something akin to a snort and giggle left his mouth. Akaashi quickly pursed his lips and prayed to anything that Bokuto didn’t hear, but the devilish look on Bokuto’s face revealed otherwise.

“Akaashi, are you..?”  
Akaashi shakes his head frantically and already begins sitting up, planning to escape and run into Bokuto’s room and lock the door, but Bokuto was too fast as all of a sudden, there were hands tickling at his sides. Akaashi writhed and squirmed and swatted at him but it was useless as it only took a few more seconds before Akaashi burst into loud laughter he didn’t know he was capable of, his head thrown back and his stomach jumping with snorts of laughter.

Bokuto paused after only a few seconds and Akaashi’s face flushes red. His laughing was probably so obnoxious and inappropriate. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Bokuto spoke.

“I’ve never heard you laugh before,” Bokuto says, his hands returning to his own personal space. “You.. have a really nice laugh, Akaashi. You should do that more often."  
Akaashi’s face flushes darker. Thank goodness for this darkness. “Oh, thanks,” he tries to say nonchalantly, but his voice cracked halfway through. He clears his throat. “I find my laugh to be kind of obnoxious, actually…”  
“It is,” Bokuto agrees, “and I love it! It’s so… unexpected, but it’s cute!” Akaashi raises his brows, “I- I mean, it’s cute how different your personality is from your laugh, y’know? So unlike Kuroo, his personality is _just_ like his laugh-”

And so Bokuto rambles on a bit longer, assessing each person of the household and whether or not their laugh matched their personality. He said that Kenma and Hinata’s laughs made sense, and that he’d actually never heard Iwaizumi so much as chuckle unless it was related to Oikawa hurting himself on accident (apparently, once he lit the edge of his shirt on fire and screamed so loud that Iwaizumi laughed himself to tears), and that Oikawa’s laugh would be more fitting if it was “squeaky and annoying” (that made Akaashi crack up).

“How about you study for an hour, and I’ll make you some hot chocolate?” Akaashi offers, propping himself up with an elbow, “a full cup, this time. And after that, if you want you can study a bit more, and you can wake up early to study then? The best thing you can do for yourself is have a good night’s sleep.”

Bokuto nods, and instead of having that look of fear and self-deprecation that Akaashi had seen a lot of tonight, he just grinned that trademark, Bokuto grin. Akaash couldn’t help but reciprocate. “That sounds perfect. Thanks Akaashi!”

His head sunk as he felt the bed lighten as Bokuto lifted himself from it and walked across the room, but not without peering over his shoulder to look at Akaashi one last time.

“Hey, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi blurts, sitting up quickly enough that the blood rushed to his head all at once. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You can do this, okay?”  
“Okay!” Bokuto gives him a hearty thumbs up, “I’ll see you in an hour for that hot chocolate!”

And, without further word, Bokuto hummed off-key to the song that had just played, and after a moment he sang some incorrectly-lyriced rendition of “Time After Time” that Akaashi didn’t have the heart to tell him the words weren’t _dime after dime._

Akaashi just smiled.

This time he didn’t suppress it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a head canon that Bokuto has ADD and is super insecure about it but Akaashi always helps him calm down and be productive.


	5. Puppy Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cool vintage music ft. Bokuto's obliviousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more of a short filler for before the wedding, which takes place next chapter :) I wanted to write from Bokuto's perspective so you guys can kind of see how he feels about Akaashi and what he's thinking.

The final week before the wedding sped by in some ways, and dragged its feet in others. Bokuto did end up taking his exam the day after Akaashi had consoled him, and despite his near panic attack towards the middle of the test, he did pretty well. In fact, he received the test back with a big “89%” slapped on it. And, the minute he burst into Akaashi’s room and said _“see! See! You’re a genius, Akaash! This is all thanks to you!”_ , Akaashi’s smile was so wide and genuine that he swore to himself he’d get 89s and higher time and time again.

Every night, around eight pm, Bokuto would find himself laying on Akaashi’s bed with his eyes closed and taking in the sounds of a record Akaashi would put on. Once, Akaashi asked Bokuto for recommendations, but he insisted that Akaashi chose every time, for he felt like he was learning about him. Learning more about what he liked and the kind of person he was in a whole new lens. Though, Bokuto was becoming more and more hyperaware of the keyboard Akaashi had herded to the back corner of his room. It was clearly well-used as there wasn’t an ounce of dust to be found on the keys, and a pair of headphones sat in a different location on the keyboard every time Bokuto came in.

On Monday night, they listened to “Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mack. Tuesday came with “Crocodile Rock” by Elton John, then Wednesday with The Beatles’ “If I Fell”, followed by “Puppy Love” by Paul Anka on Thursday. Bokuto learned that Akaashi really, really, _really_ loved post-2000s music. _“You’re an old soul, Akaashi,”_ Bokuto told him as they had washed out their hot chocolate mugs the night before, _“you and your cool vintage music and sweaters and tea.”_

But right now, Bokuto was hanging on to the last minute of studying. It was 7:59 pm and the words of his textbook were all blurring into one nonsensical blob. He could hardly wait, and it took every last bit of self-containment not to spring up and walk into Akaashi’s room. He studied until 8 pm, that was the deal. One time, he showed up five minutes early, and Akaashi chided him for it.

As soon as 8 pm rolled around, Bokuto slammed his textbook shut with much enthusiasm, practically threw himself upwards from his unmade bed and skidded across the apartment, past Kuroo who was in a heated argument with Oikawa about some alien shit he was too lazy to engage with, and past Kenma who offered Bokuto a strained “good evening, Koutaro.”

“Kaashi!” Bokuto bursts as he knees open the door, “Kaash, it’s time for-”

Bokuto freezes. As the door swung open, he noticed that Akaashi was missing from his usual spot on the bed. He frowns very deeply and looks around only to find it equally empty. At first, he was about to mope and trudge back to his own room before he noticed a collection of things: Akaashi’s star lights were on, and he _never_ left them on unless he intended to come back to his room soon. His glasses were also missing from their usual spot on the bedside table, and most of the time he only wore his glasses in the apartment. Finally, his notes and textbooks were missing from his desk.

Hopeful, Bokuto spun around and skidded past Oikawa, Kenma, and Kuroo once more and rounded the wall separating the hallway and the kitchen and peeking into the living room. He lit up immediately. Ah, there was a tuft of curly black hair visible from over the couch cushion!

“Kaaaashi, are you studying past 8? What are you doing?” Bokuto starts, bounding over and ready to plop down beside him, but he froze again. And cooed.

Akaashi was sleeping.

He had his open-faced textbook hugged loosely to his chest, and though the page had bent because of this, Akaashi didn’t seem conscious enough to fix this. His glasses had slid from their perch on his nose to resting half in his mouth. But above all else, he looked so peaceful, and that frequent twinge in his brow was invisible. His face was smooth, untainted, and blissed out with slumber.

In a quick motion, Bokuto began to tidy up the area around Akaashi. Despite the fact he was quite the messy person, Bokuto was neat when it came to picking up after his certain dark-haired friend. So, after closing the various textbooks scattered around him, hauling them to his room and setting them on their usual spot on his desk, Bokuto came back for a second trip to look at Akaashi, who was strewn over the couch gracelessly. He couldn’t help but crack a smile at how adorable it was.

He had to admit that it was troubling that Akaashi, a night owl, was passing out at 8 pm on a Friday. At times, Bokuto would pad across the hall to use the bathroom at around 3 am and see the light coming from underneath Akaashi’s door. He would be sure to chastise him in the morning for overworking himself.

So, Bokuto leaned down, scooped Akaashi up (it took a few tries as at first, his leg dangled down awkwardly at first and Akaashi had stirred unhappily in his sleep), and took the glasses from his face to slip in his pocket. Surprisingly, Akaashi was light for a decently tall guy, but Bokuto found it cute that he was so easy to pick up. Holding Akaashi close to his chest, Bokuto walked from the living room to Akaashi’s room, and made a loud _shhhh_ noise at Kuroo and Oikawa as he dramatically motioned to the sleeping beauty in his arms.

Once in Akaashi’s room, he gently took off his slippers for him, set his glasses on his bedside table, and tucked the blanket up to his chin. He allowed himself a moment to look at Akaashi one last time before he busied himself with blowing out his candles and turning off the starlights before he fully slipped away from him and shut the door without a word. In fact, he wasn’t aware of the stupidly wide smile bright on his face before he turned around to see Oikawa and Kuroo looking at him with equivalently suspecting expressions. “So,” Oikawa starts, brows raised, “you and Serious-kun, huh?”

Bokuto’s face flared dark and he shook his head repeatedly, a too-loud, awkward laugh tumbling from his still-upturned lips, “no no no, Oikawa, you have the wrong idea, we’re just friends!”

“That’s what they all say,” Kuroo says with a heaved sigh, “but it’s not like you’re one to talk, Oikawa. You can’t tell me that you and Iwaizumi are just friends.”

“Of course we aren’t,” Oikawa flaunts, exhaling sharply enough to make a strand of his hair flop over his eyes. He pouts at it before proceeding, “we’re dating, _obviously._ He just doesn’t know it yet. And besides, you should’ve see the look on his face last night when I was in his room wearing nothing but his-”

“Douchebag jar,” Kuroo and Bokuto interrupt without a moment’s hesitation, voices spoken in unison with equally deadpan expressions. Oikawa actually whines and digs around his sweatpants pocket for a wadded dollar bill to stick in the overflowing jar,

“You guys are no fun,” he says with a dramatic _hmph,_ “but the point _is,_ Owl Horns here _clearly_ has a thing for Aka-chan, and personally, I think that-”

“Nope,” Kenma interrupts, his voice soft but assertive, “don’t take his advice. Don’t fall for his schemes. Tooru doesn’t know how to manage his love life. Why would he know how to direct someone else’s?”  
Kuroo looked back at Kenma, who was standing behind him, and snorted at first before he burst into his hyena laugh and all its glory. Bokuto couldn’t help but join in, yet his mind drifted. He had been right, Kuroo’s laugh _definitely_ matched his personality. So different to Akaashi, who had that cute little snort thing if he laughed hard enough. Bokuto came back to focus to find Kenma crawling onto the couch and pulling a blanket over his body like some kind of turtle, Oikawa wrestling Kuroo to try and get the last pudding (Kuroo was definitely winning, but Oikawa was wailing _no fair, no fair!_ enough that Bokuto thought Oikawa might actually win) and just like that, the attention had been shifted to his own painfully nonexistent love life back to the apartment’s usual shenanigans.

Well, the wedding was tomorrow.

And emotionally, spiritually, and physically, Bokuto was _not_ ready for his ex and Akaashi Keiji to be in the same room.

He also had no idea what he was going to wear.

Bokuto had no clue how he felt about Akaashi, now that Kuroo and Oikawa had prodded him about it. He decided to pack up this confusion and ship it away for future Bokuto to worry about. For now, he would forget about all that and think of Akaashi as nothing more than a good, adorable (just an observation!) friend.

Just a friend.

(For now, anyway. Gay panic would find its way to Bokuto Koutaro.)


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding chapter is finally here!  
> Akaashi gets drunk and Bokuto is clingy as usual.

“Akaashi.”

Akaashi groans and rolls over.

“ _Akaashi.”_

He progresses to swat at whatever terrible human being was trying to shake him from his sleep.

“AKAASHI!”

Finally, Akaashi bolts upwards and gives a pointed, groggy glare and whatever had the damn _audacity_ to wake him. But, as the morning haziness faded from his eyes and the figure before him came into focus, Akaashi huffed in annoyance. It was no one other than Kuroo, who looked as smug as always, brows raised and grinning his usual shit-eating grin unfortunately present. Akaashi heaves a heavy, heavy sigh and fumbles for his glasses. “What,” he says gruffly, voice scratchy from lack of use.

Kuroo folds his arms and straightens up to his full height, “Akaashi, it’s almost noon. We have to be at the wedding in a half hour. What, are you a vampire or something? Do you just like, stay up until 5 and sleep in until 12 but then also go to sleep at 3 and wake up at 8 the next day?”  
Akaashi paused from making his bed to look over his shoulder and give Kuroo a narrowed glance, “you know my sleep schedule suspiciously well.”  
Kuroo just shrugs and looks and Akaashi with a proud expression, “Kenma has the exact same sleep schedule as you. It’s annoying because I’ll be trying to sleep and he’ll be shouting at his Xbox but then I’ll try to wake up and he’ll actually try to murder me.”

“That’s nice,” Akaashi says in a pointedly flat tone, and made it very obvious that it was time for Kuroo to leave his room as he began picking out his clothes to change into, but Kuroo seemed far too dense to pick up on the social cues.

Halfway through his tangent about how Kenma needed to sleep more and play less games and give him more attention, Akaashi finally managed to push Kuroo out of his room and bask in the peace that lasted all of five seconds before suddenly he heard a very distinct _“Akaashi!! Kaashi, help meeee!”  
_ He half-tucked his barely-buttoned shirt into his black slacks and hung his black tie loose around his neck as he padded across the apartment to where the desperate cries for help were coming from, which turned out to be, unsurprisingly, Bokuto’s room.

“The tie is trying to kill me,” Bokuto whines as Akaashi steps through the door, and he heaves a heavy, heavy sigh.

“It’s not trying to kill you,” Akaashi muses, but he can’t help but crack a smile at the bright look of confusion in Bokuto’s eyes, and the way his big hands fumbled with his tie, or how he buttoned up his shirt wrong and his sleeves were bunched around to cuff at his elbows. “Here, look. It’s not so hard, but first, you need to fix your shirt buttons.” Akaashi bends down to match Bokuto’s seated height and deliberately avoids Bokuto’s eyes as he re-buttons the shirt, and directs Bokuto to wrap the tie around the narrow end— _no, not like that, Bokuto-san, don’t tug on it so hard—_ then push it through the formed loop— _there, Bokuto-san. See? No killing necessary._ Akaashi ended up adjusting the navy blue tie to fit just right around Bokuto’s neck and adjusted the collar along with it before he decided to smooth the wrinkles over Bokuto’s chest a _little_ bit more than necessary.

When he stepped back, he couldn’t help but feel breathless.

Bokuto looked so, so good. Hair gelled as usual, slacks snug around his unfairly fit legs and his meaty biceps visible even through the button-up shirt.

“How do I look, Agaashi?” Bokuto asks with an almost child-like excitement. His eyes were such a pretty amber shade, Akaashi noticed.

“You look great, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi murmurs, already on his way out, “I’ll meet you out front.”

____________________

There were way too many people in one too-small space for Akaashi to feel _anything_ close to comfortable.

The ceremony itself was _fine._ As fine as it could be cramped between Oikawa and Iwaizumi, perhaps the _worst_ seating arrangement the universe could offer. Akaashi offered hundreds of times to switch with one of them, begged, even, but as it turns out, they were in one of their “catfights” as Kuroo called them. Oikawa was busy with constantly checking his hair in his phone camera, and Iwaizumi would huff and get mad at him for being a “shitty narcissist” and Oikawa would whine and say _“you don’t always have to be so mean, Iwa-chan!”_ and in short, Akaashi had wanted to literally crawl into the nearest storm drain and come out once the mess had passed.

Maybe that was a _little_ dramatic as everything else about the ceremony was just fine. The bride was beautiful with her dress fluttering behind her and her eyes full of just as much love as the groom awaiting her at the altar, and the harp and piano only softened the loving atmosphere. Akaashi found it odd to peer in on such an intimate moment, but at the same time, he enjoyed it.

It wasn’t until the reception that things got out of hand.

 _“Remember to keep an eye on Bokuto,”_ Kiyoko had said as she stopped Akaashi before he walked into the tall, wide reception tent. She looked nice tonight, her hair flattened and lips glossed, eyes complimented by her navy-blue dress and nicely contrasting Yachi’s light pink dress and glittery eyeshadow. _“You’re the only one with a shot here.”_

Akaashi heaved a sigh. He was leaned against the bar, his drink nursed with his hands as his eyes roamed the crowd. Bokuto and Kuroo were stationed behind him as they had been for the past hour, drinking in timed increments that would end once one of them laughed so loud that the bartender would threaten to kick them out for the umpteenth time. Sugawara and Daichi were drinking also, but they remained far more pleasant than Kuroo or Bokuto would probably _ever_ be. Hinata and Kageyama, on the other hand, tried to have a competition of who could take more shots, but Kageyama took one shot and nearly threw up so they decided to just have orange juice.

Kenma, on the other hand, was playing Animal Crossing under the table.

It wasn’t until the reception hit the second hour that things got… _interesting._

Now that Bokuto was sufficiently drunk and Akaashi had loosened his own tie as a sign of his own drowsiness, some woman decided to make her way over to them.

“Hello,” she purred, walking up to Akaashi and speaking to him with such confidence that at first, he was sure she had mistaken him for someone she thought she knew. She was strikingly beautiful in the same way that Kiyoko was with her dark eyes and chilling charm. But this woman had a far different aura to her than Kiyoko’s quiet but fierce one.

“Hi,” Akaashi says gracelessly, brows slightly raised in question.

“You know Koutaro, right?”

Akaashi’s eyes narrow as he nods. “Ah, Bokuto-san? We’re roommates.”

The woman looks at him distastefully before her lips tilt up into a small, strikingly not genuine smile. “Oh, how nice. Well, I’m Ueno, have you heard him talk about me before?”

“…no?”

The darkness in her eyes seems to spread a little further. “Oh, you must not be around him much.”

Akaashi is actually so shocked to the point where he chuckles, and Ueno gives him an unmasked, sharp look that only made him chuckle more. He couldn’t place why, but her chilling, suffocating vibe was amusing to him.

“What?” Ueno snaps, dark eyes fading from their previous warmth. Akaashi just shrugs,

“Oh, I don’t know. I just think it’s funny, because I spend more time with Bokuto-san than without him and I haven’t so much as heard your name,” he says, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. But he didn’t take them back. He was aware that the two glasses of wine he had were maybe getting to him a little and putting more edge to his usual cordial responses.

Ueno’s mouth pops open in a surprised “o” as she had obviously underestimated Akaashi. “What, are you in love with him or something?”

Akaashi snorts at that, and she looked _really_ pissed now. “Wow, for some reason, I mistook you as a grown woman,” Akaashi says clearly, “but I was _clearly_ wrong.”

Ueno was literally twitching so much that Akaashi mildly feared she might hit him. “Just- where _is_ he?”  
Akaashi looks up at the ceiling. “Hmmm, let me think about it. You’re probably just going to go and play with his emotions and use him as a useless hookup like you usually do at these type of things, right?” Ueno was shocked to silence. “Guess what? I’m not letting you do that again. Props to you for getting yourself a sleepover but please don’t do it at the expense of someone else’s feelings.”

Ueno could only say, “who the hell _are_ you?”

To which Akaashi only replied, eyes lidded and lips slightly smirked with his drunkness, “Akaashi Keiji, motherfucker.” Oh, he was _way_ drunker than he thought. How many glasses of wine had he had, anyway?  
With that glorious note, Akaashi stumbled away from his perch on the barstool and left the speechless, toxic ex behind as he tried to locate Bokuto in the reception tent. He couldn’t remember how he got here. Actually, he couldn’t remember if he’d already had dinner or cake, or if they’d danced yet. Oh no, he remembered dancing, laughing at how Bokuto and Kuroo did a sad robot dance and how Oikawa tried (and failed) to throw it back on multiple occasions. He remembered laughing harder than he had ever let himself in public, almost as loud as that one time when he laughed and snorted at how Bokuto tickled him that one time, just last week.

But now, Akaashi couldn’t find a clue of where he left Bokuto in this tent until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Sugawara looking at him with a wide grin and even wider eyes, and Daichi, who wore an impressed expression.

“Holy _shit,_ Akaashi,” Sugawara said, “that was crazy, woah! Who knew you had so much sass under all that!”

Akaashi couldn’t help but return Sugawara’s wide, contagious smile, “well, I didn’t want to see Bokuto-san get himself into trouble again.”

“I’ve never seen Ueno back off so easily,” Daichi observes, low voice laced with pride, “you must’ve intimidated her.”

“She didn’t seem to be a terrible person,” Akaashi starts, words slurring more and more as he tried to speak, “she just seemed lonely, really, and she went about it in the wrong way..”

Sugawara hums, “how mature of you, Akaashi! I’m not surprised, though. Now, is it time to go to the strip club yet?”

Daichi actually facepalms, “Koushi-”

Akaashi looks to Daichi with wide eyes, “strip club? I’m not sure if I-”

“He’s kidding,” Daichi says quickly, to which Suga whoops,

“They better hold onto their hats! I’m ready to give them my resumé!”  
“Koushi, no-”

Akaashi didn’t remember stumbling away from the funny pair, but he must’ve as he found himself lost in a crowd once again, people bustling and bubbling in their own worlds that, despite being in the same room as him, didn’t coincide with Akaashi’s world whatsoever. It was an interesting thought as, if Akaashi hadn’t been desperate and broke and on Craig’s List at the right time, could have been all Bokuto was to him. But now, here Akaashi was, fighting his ex for him and suddenly finding Bokuto at the center of his universe.

“You’re drunk,” comes a voice behind him, and Akaashi whirls around but immediately relaxes. It was Bokuto, here and safe, not laying drunk in the Denny’s parking lot.

“So are you,” Akaashi says, eyes flickering up to catch Bokuto’s dilated amber eyes and heavy unbuttoned shirt to the point it was downright sinful-

And so they danced.

The funny thing about Akaashi’s drunkness was that his body would just _do_ things and he wouldn’t even realize it until minutes later.

So, when he pressed into Bokuto to dance across the dance floor, hands slotting on his shoulders while he felt the warmth of Bokuto’s arm looped around his waist, he didn’t think much of it until suddenly they had been slow dancing for five songs and his head was resting in the crook of Bokuto’s neck. Neither had said a word because, as it turned out, Bokuto was more quiet after he drank. It was peaceful, even when the world around them was spinning and the people in the tent were loud, it felt quiet here, safe. Akaashi holding Bokuto and Bokuto holding Akaashi, swaying off-beat to songs that definitely weren’t meant to slow dance to. Akaashi discovered that Bokuto smelled like pine tree-scented cologne and faintly of sweat and beer, but it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that he was here.

“Let’s go home,” Bokuto eventually murmured, voice soft but he was so close to Akaashi that he could hear him just fine. In fact, he was so close that Akaashi could practically taste his breath on his lips.

“Okay,” Akaashi breathed.

They broke apart from holding each other, but instead, they held hands all the way to the awaiting Uber, where Bokuto gave the directions and Akaashi fell asleep with his head on his lap. Miraculously, he woke up in his own bed with a terrible hangover the next morning, his only immediate memories being what Bokuto smelled like and the look of his eyes when they were illuminated with the passing streetlights in the dark of the car ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Akaashi is starting to feel like home is wherever Bokuto is


End file.
